When a Heart Must Go Where It Belongs
by savory pie
Summary: America has trouble coping with the United Kingdom’s dissolution after glaciers melt and the island is submerged.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or _Silencer_.

**Warnings: **Angst, symbolism, character death. US/UK if you squint real hard.

**A/N:** I originally wasn't going to post _anything _Hetalia in regards to fanfiction. What I know about the series is 99% from fanfiction.

Anyways, there is a US/UK fan comic in the USxUK community on LiveJournal that my friend linked me to—_Silencer_—and it was really, really good. (You should read it.) She requested a fanfic of it and this happened. (I don't know, somehow it just kept growing until it was about as long my other oneshots.) My friend insisted I post this online and since she gave me pretty good critique (which is rare XD) I decided to do so…

Enjoy.

All spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. If you find any, let me know and I'll correct them ASAP. Constructive criticism is wanted, so don't be shy or hold back.

* * *

When a heart must go where it belongs

_the world will go on spinning.

* * *

_

"_Thank you all for taking in my citizens. Then according to the agreement, I hereby declare that the United Kingdom is dissolved as of now." _

_(How can he look so calm? He's basically declaring his death!)_

"_Wait! I won't allow it! What you mean there's no way… There are still some ways like Japan's artificial land. If you need funding I can aid—"_

"_America, if England wanted that, he would've requested it a long time ago. You should stop intervening and causing difficulty for—"_

_(Nobody—no one understands. I'm not doing this just to cause trouble for him. He can't. He _can't _leave. He can't give up without a fight. That's not England!)_

"_SHUT UP! Anyone that disagrees with me should either shut up or disappear before me!"_

" _It can't be helped. You're still so capricious even at times like this… Thank you America, but I have already decided. Goodbye." _

_(No. Nonono. NO. You can't leave me, you selfish bastard! That's not even a proper good-bye. Why the hell are you smiling at me? Why are you _doing_ this to me?)

* * *

_

Almost immediately after England made his announcement, he rose from his seat and left in the midst of the conference. America was hysterical by then and scrambled frantically to follow him out. As Alfred opened the door and exited the room, he looked left, then right, scanning the hallway. Either side of was eerily empty for miles. Alfred couldn't see an end to them, the hall stretched on to infinity. Suddenly he felt alone like he had never felt before. Not since he was young, before England had… It seemed as if every single living being had evaporated from the Earth, and Alfred was left alone as some kind cruel, sadistic joke.

"England!"

America tried to call out his name, but with each shout, his voice sounded more and more desperate and uncertain when there was no response. People just didn't disappear into thin air when they were seen mere seconds ago.

He didn't remember how, but he was running. He sprinted the direction he suspected led to the exit, but the hall was light years long and he couldn't get anywhere or possibly catch up to England and—

America woke up in a cold sweat. The young man wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, sitting up.

Dreams like that started to occur more and more frequently. Rest had become a foreign concept to him. And it wasn't as if America had much else to do besides sleep, forced into a vacation by the 'suggestion' of the other nations. Maybe he should go somewhere other than his own country if he was on 'vacation,' but it really didn't matter in the end. He just wanted to sleep. As pathetic as it may sound, he found comfort in his dreams.

They were the only way he could see England. And that's why they were dreams, not nightmares. But recently, he saw less and less of England and experienced more of the anxiety and loneliness and hopelessness the absence of said person left him with. (Was he starting to forget Arthur's face?) He shook his head and the foreboding thought from his mind.

The world seemed to have forgotten about the United Kingdom so soon (too soon). Almost every shred of evidence of its existence dissolved like salt in water. It was almost as if England was never real, but a delusion that he finally woke up from.

But that was not how America felt. He felt like he'd woken up to this twisted, warped hallucination that he could not escape from.

Reality and sanity had long since vanished.

* * *

He probably looked very strange walking aimlessly in the streets because in New York City, _everyone_ had somewhere they had to be (in a hurry). The Big Apple had a Chinatown, Little Italy…why the hell wasn't there an England town or Little Britain? America brooded and in the back of his head, a nagging voice replied.

_Perhaps there would be if you had accepted English emigrants…_

America's brain then flung a barrage of past mistakes into his thoughts, stirring the beginnings of a violent tempest of emotions inside the nation. Damn it! I'm so stupid, stupid! I should have pushed more, _cared _more about global warming and the stupid CO2 emissions_, _America started to blame himself. When the same annoying little voice from earlier replied, America was sure that he had truly gone mad.

Alfred sighed. Taking a walk sounded nothing but beneficial in his mind, but only made everything worse. He laughed out loud. He was thinking too much, feeling the onset of a migraine. Only England could make _America _think more and harder than the philosophical Greece, himself.

America slowly stumbled into the nearest building to escape the loud city noise. He sank to the floor, his back to the wall. His head felt light, but the pain of pins and needles began to subside. He could just fall asleep right there…

"Mister?" A small child's voice inquired, curious.

"What is it?" He groaned, and looked up. A small boy in tan shorts and a t-shirt that said 'Who are you and why are you reading my shirt?' no more than six, stood before him with a bundle of papers.

"Y'want a progam?" The boy asked, smiling a champion's smile. (How could America resist?)

"…Sure. Why not?" Alfred took the program from the child's small, soft hand. The boy then proceeded to run down the hall, full of energy, his hair dirty blonde hair disheveled.

_Solo & Ensemble Festival of 2076. _

Alfred had no idea what time it was and he didn't have a watch on him, so he got up and started wandering the halls. He saw a performance that was about to start and walked into the classroom. Soon, everyone settled down and took their seats as a teenage girl introduced herself to the judge and audience and took a deep breath as the accompaniment played the prelude on the baby grand.

As soon as the girl started singing, America was a bit shaken. He didn't think his choice to go into that particular room at that time had been mere coincidence because…

The sophomore girl sang old, old—ancient—songs; she sang World War II songs.

America wanted to cry.

* * *

"_There'll be bluebirds over_

_The white cliffs of Dover_

_Tomorrow_

_Just you wait and see…"

* * *

_

"Do you like it?"

Alfred sat atop cliffs above a stretch of water beside England and flopped back against the grass to avoid the cool evening breeze. He watched the sun idly sit in the sky almost overhead.

"It's a nice song." Arthur replied nonchalantly.

"What's wrong with it?" The younger sat up immediately and turned to the elder, a worried expression prominently displayed on his face.

"I didn't say anything was wrong with the bloody song!" The Brit replied defensively and then relaxed a little, looking confused when America laughed a little.

"It's funny how you think you can lie to me."

After a short silence, England found the right words to string into a proper response.

"…Why bluebirds?"

"They signify cheer and peace! That's the whole point of the song. Duuuuh." America smiled happily and laid back down, his hands behind his head for some cushioning.

England chuckled softly at his behavior.

"The bluebird is an _American_ species of bird. There aren't any around here. So…in all likelihood, there will never be bluebirds over these cliffs." America sat up at this and pouted indignantly.

"Well. Maybe in a century or two, the global climate will go all crazy and weird—"

"Because of you?"

"—and my climate will switch with yours and then bluebirds will live in England instead." Alfred finished proudly at his explanation, his loophole to Arthur's logic. He resettled his head on Arthur's shoulder, tired of lying down to relax then sitting up to converse.

"You _would_ do something like that just to prove me wrong." Arthur replied and chuckled again. He raised his hand and tousled Alfred's hair. "I appreciate the support."

Alfred just grinned like an idiot, and closed his eyes.

When he woke, rain spattered his glasses and through the small, not so wet parts of his glasses, he could make out the figure of England on the edge of the cliff.

"W-Wha—Arthur!"

America got up quickly.

(Not quick enough.)

He never saw England jump over the white cliffs—he just disappeared without a trace (as always). What he did see were the violent waves, the turbulent sea that had swallowed his most important person so greedily. They crashed against the base of the cliffs rapidly in a mock laughter, a roar of victory.

Alfred let anger and rage distract him from his sorrow; he allowed hate to control his thoughts. He wanted so badly to retaliate, for retribution (and just noticed how he easily he could find eloquent words when livid…and how did he know what that word meant?)

"_Idiot! You can never think when you're angry. You barely think as it is. Your thoughts become even more capricious. It makes you even more difficult to deal with."_

"_Seriously, is your favorite word 'capricious' or somethin'?" The younger nation doesn't even blink at the no-so-subtle insult._

"_It is when describing you." He smirks._

The dark sky loomed before him, the moon a tiny sliver creating shadows on his face. He stares at the dark waters below, silently contemplating on what to do.

_Am I weak? _

_So weak that I can't live without him? _

_Am I being selfish for wanting to be entitled to wish that he'd always be with me?_

('Yes, yes, yes.' The demons of his mind whisper in reply.)

America awoke again in a cold sweat.

He kept waking and waking, but he could never escape the nightmare he woke up to that one day. It was a fact, and he couldn't change facts. England was lost to him… He couldn't settle anything in dreamscape with a dream person. It wasn't _real _and the maw of unsaid, unresolved matters and feelings would swallow him alive.

It was decided then.

It was time for him to get out of the states, time to pay Francis a visit. He'd always wanted to visit the northern coast of France.

* * *

"_There'll be love and laughter_

_And peace ever after_

_Tomorrow_

_When the world is free"

* * *

_

As soon as Francis left, Alfred dropped his normal cheery façade and turned to the (former) Strait of Dover. He finally knew what he had to do. And he was actually looking forward to it, excited, happy for the first time in ages.

_Good morning England. Today, the weather is nice. It's cool, but the ocean winds are warm. The Strait of Dover (that once existed) is shining with beauty._

I have decided to find you. Just like how you found me.

Alfred walked back and then got a running start, leaping from the rocky cliffs. He was weightless, free and every second down he felt happier than he had been in _months._ He didn't even remember hitting the water or the salty water fill his lungs.

"Huh? Where did he go?" Francis wondered, having returned early just to check on the kid. Fear controlled his thoughts as he dropped the can of Coke and ran down toward the sandy beaches below the cliffs. He waded out and dived for meters and meters but turned up empty put save for a pair of glasses. A shadow was momentarily cast on him frown above. The European looked up at the sky and into the blinding sun where he had seen a blue flash. Francis merely shrugged it off, thinking his eyes still hadn't recovered from searching the salty water.

* * *

"_There'll be bluebirds over_

_The white cliffs of Dover_

_Tomorrow_

_Just you wait and see..."

* * *

_

(Scientist still can't even begin to explain the reason for the abnormal crustal movement in the North American region in the 2070s. There was no warning, no signs of prior stress or movement and the plate just cracked, collapsing onto itself and sinking the majority of the continental United States, leaving Canada and Mexico completely unaffected.)

* * *

**Footnotes** (courtesy of Wikipedia):

"(There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover" is a popular World War II song made famous by Vera Lynn with her 1942 recording-one of her best-known recordings. Written in 1941 by Americans Walter Kent and Nat Burton, the song was also among the most popular Second World War tunes. It was written before America had joined World War II, to uplift the spirits of the Allies at a time when Nazi Germany had conquered much of Europe's area and was bombing Britain.

The song's lyrics looked toward a time when the war would be over and peace would rule over the iconic white cliffs of Dover, Britain's de facto border with the European mainland. At the time British and German aircraft had been fighting over the cliffs of Dover in the Battle of Britain.

"The White Cliffs of Dover" is one of many popular songs that use a "Bluebird of Happiness" as a symbol of cheer. However, there are no bluebirds in Britain; they are an American species and so it is quite unlikely that there will ever be "bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover".


End file.
